Posts Tagged ‘Tornadoes’

When Life Gives You Tornadoes, Make Bouquets!

I’m not sure if last night’s weather made national news, but just wanted to let people know that we are OK here in Goshen after a night of storms and possible tornado touchdown. I did my usual property protection with the THORN Rune, Nature Spirits and visualization, and once again, almost no signs of a storm on our block. What’s strange is that the little “damage” we had, I dreamed on Sunday morning! Poor Ann, of Exopermaculture got an eye-full of an email from me on Sunday, as I had intended to ask her a simple question anyway about watering the Garden Tower, but instead awoke from an extremely vivid dream about what appeared to be the New Madrid earthquake.

In the dream, I watched the ground beneath our Garden Tower heave-ho, to and fro until the Garden Tower actually tipped over. Everything was eerily quiet in the dream, and the only real loss turned out to be that the GT had squashed a ripe watermelon. In sharing the dream with Ann, I mentioned that the watermelon in question was only a few inches now. Well, after last night’s crazy storms — telephone poles cut in half, trees down all over the county, 60K people, including us, without power most of today — the only real “damage” I saw outside today was that the watermelon from my dream had been catapulted off its little cradle when a pot of mint tipped over.

watermelon

Amidst all the blowing, the exact watermelon from my dream (just a younger version of it) met its demise. Hopefully that means the tornado substituted itself for what would have been a devastating earthquake at the fault line if it rocked the ground so much up here. 😉

I don’t mean to minimize the effects of the tornado. People described trees “all over the place,” broken store windows, and much of downtown Goshen remained closed all day today. My friend Kimber stopped by this morning to see how we fared, sharing that her garden, too, had largely weathered the storm. On her way to our house, she observed many downed trees that had carefully inserted themselves between houses so as to cause the least amount of structural damage possible. We expressed gratitude that the tree right next door to us — about 5 stories high and hollow, according to our mulch guy — made it through yet another storm. It’s unlikely ever to hit our house if it goes, but one direction would mean a 60,000 volt impact on power lines that supply the North end of town (where Kimber lives); the other direction would demolish our neighbors’ house and possibly part of our front yard garden. You can bet that tree received extra protective attention last night!

People around town today shared being awoken by their cell phones blaring tornado warnings, as well as the town’s tornado sirens. Being so used to the train whistles all night, we, of course, heard none of that here. David slept through the whole thing, and I sleep so earplugged, lavendered and with the white noise of the vintage Hassock fan that I’m “lucky” if I hear David’s alarm each morning. I did awake at 1 a.m. with a sudden knowing to unplug the stereo, since we’d already done our laptops before bed. By then, incredible lightning and winds had started, so I began Rune protections and full concentration. Once things settled down, I fell back asleep, awakening two hours later due to the unusual silence of having the power out. It remained out until around 4:45 p.m. today.

All in all, though, this storm seemed yet another example of “being in the world but not of it” or of radically diverging realities — one negative and the other new and celebratory. Kimber arrived to find me gathering bouquets in my nightgown, wellies and a light sweater — zinnias and yarrow in hand. When I went outside to survey the “damage,” I had found only a tipped over geranium pot, the one rogue watermelon, and a couple pots of mint on their sides. Nothing broken, just a wild mass of electrified, happy, brilliant plants! I felt compelled to gather flowers for one new bouquet to replace the older one I’d just composted.

As I continued to look around, I noticed that some of the taller flowers and leeks I’d let flower were spread out and somewhat drooping. They hadn’t detached, but their tall, heavy stems encouraged me to lighten the load with two more bouquets. I ended up finally staking some of the plants that had asked me to stake them earlier this week (oops!), but really, all I got for my negligence was an extra two spots of loveliness:

The first bouquet

The first bouquet

Tipsy leeks and echinacea inspired this one.

Tipsy leeks and echinacea inspired this one.

And, oh, my! These stems were so long, they needed background support. Confession: I have long been a fan of bathroom bouquets. :)

And, oh, my! These stems were so long, they needed background support. Confession: I have long been a fan of bathroom bouquets. 🙂

As synchronicity would have it, I had very few sessions scheduled today and had just had a dry run wifi outage last Thursday, leading me to have prepared to do any phone sessions via cell “if necessary.” I even got to use a handy dandy cell solar charger from my prepper postal friend, Sean. It’s too funny that I always, always get him whenever I go to the P.O., and we always happen to have just the right info or product that the other of us has been looking to learn or acquire. Anyway, now I can finally tell him that I opened the box!

As with that 6/14/14 date, which seemed another reality splitter, today marked an especially wonderful day in David’s world — and thus, by extension, my own. Without going into private details, we received two additional confirmations of long awaited changes that will dramatically free up his life in very much imagined and intended ways. He had a half day today and picked me up to run errands in a part of town unaffected by power outages. Since cell phone conversations (even with headset, Qlink, and a SARS shield) still zap me with EMF’s, I felt famished and even a little shaky. (The orgone pucks have dramatically helped with our in-home wifi, but, I tell you, those iPhones are toxic! I really do feel like I have radiation sickness whenever I talk on them for any length of time, even with all the protections. That’s not to say the protections don’t work. Without them, I cannot even have my phone turned on, let alone talk on it.)

Anyhoo, I mentioned how hungry I was, so David made a beeline decision to turn into Goshen’s new Thai restaurant we’ve meant to try. We had heard very mixed reviews and didn’t know what to expect. Lo and behold, we had a fabulous lunch! Artistic presentation, delicious vegan food, lovely waiter. Thank you, thank you!

We then continued on our errands and eventually took a short nap at David’s parents’ air conditioned house (I hadn’t slept much last night), since they had power. When we returned to our house, the compost bin I’d recently ordered for our next door neighbors arrived, our power was on, and I just needed to await delivery of a different compost bin for us, which I had scored for very cheap on Craigslist. I’ve been looking for a second compost bin just like our current one for months, and they’re either unavailable or very steeply priced. I got both of today’s bins for about half the cost of what a single one would have cost. Their arrival so close to each other after months of searching on today, the same day David learned his wonderful news … just underscored the contrast between disaster and joyful timelines.

If you’ve felt insane intensity this last little while, you’re not alone at all. I hear from people all over the world each week, sharing statistically improbable successes and bizarre challenges that you just can’t make up if you want to write a believable novel. It continues to become ever more clear that what Starhawk calls El Mundo Bueno and El Mundo Malo live side by side.

In magical realist terms:

“Doña Elena used to say that there was the Good Reality, El Mundo Bueno, literally the Good World, and the Bad Reality, El Mundo Malo, and they were always vying with each other. In the Good Reality you have a mild headache; in the Bad Reality you have a fatal brain disease. In the Good Reality, you catch hold of the rail as your foot slips; in the Bad Reality, you miss, slide down the stairs, and break your neck.

“We walk in the Good Reality as if we were treading the thin skin on warm milk. It’s always possible to break through and drown. …

“There is a hopeful side to Doña Elena’s teaching. … Even in El Mundo Malo, the Good Reality is always just on the other side of the surface of things. If you can learn to reach and pull yourself through, you can make miracles.” (Starhawk, The Fifth Sacred Thing, page 44)

Each person gets to decide, moment by moment voting with attention, intention and vibration — which will it be? I say: “When life gives you tornadoes, make bouquets!”

Cheers, Lovies!

All Is Well in the Land of Goshen

Several people have already contacted me, very concerned about how we’re doing in Goshen after 60 tornadoes plowed through Illinois and Indiana today. Thanks for your concern. We’re doing well here. I always tell people I cut deals with the Nature Spirits, and I’m really not kidding. Thor is the God of Thunder, associated with the THORN Rune of protection. I mentally draw that Rune all over our property every time I hear of or sense any sort of major storm. Synchronously, just as I sat down to post this announcement, Yahoo news flashed some story across my screen about THOR the movie. Yes, thunder and lightning and wind were very active today! But not so much right here.

I talk to the Nature Spirits like I talk to the bees who get mad at me for interrupting their meal while watering my bee friendly flowers: “Hey, don’t sting me. I planted these flowers, and I’m keeping them alive for you. Don’t sting the hand that feeds you. C’mon, live in harmony, eh?” and the bees let me do my thing without stinging me, just like the wasps when I remind them who planted the plants that house the insects the wasps eat. When storms come, I always request that the Nature Spirits protect our property, especially our home and gardens. I remind them that I can much more easily advocate for Nature if I have adequate living quarters and food. So far, so good. Although much of Goshen was tucked away in basements, I felt fine wandering around upstairs figuring what to wear for tonight’s outing. I just knew no storm would hit our house.

Tonight we had our Inner Transitions book group meeting scheduled in Three Rivers, Michigan, and we received an email saying they were on if we were. Driving there, we saw some pretty intense damage — the roof of a silo ripped off and insulation strewn all over the road; closed roads; miles and miles of downed power lines; a tower toppled over; branches and entire trees scattered across lawns and in ditches; pitch blackness all around. The house hosting the meeting did not have power, but they did have a wood stove and hurricane lanterns. They ran their generator so we could flush the toilet, since there were a dozen or so of us visiting from various locations. We had a lovely, lovely time! Somehow, having fluorescent lights replaced by the warm glow of a fire and oil lamps was just perfect. The people hosting expressed gratitude because they had consciously designed their home to be able to host such gatherings even in the event of a long term grid-down scenario.

I won’t discuss our Inner Transition processing, because that’s private, but tonight’s meeting underscored for me the sense of joy and return to soulful community that life without electricity has the potential to cultivate. The massive power outages, likely to stay out for weeks, also affirmed my own urge to get some extra preps in place last weekend. It was weird, because even while posting about the GridEx II drill, I didn’t really feel like that was it. I just felt like we ought to have some alternative heat and extra food and water available for us and for David’s parents. Unlike so many in Illinois, Indiana and Michigan, we didn’t end up needing those preps today; however, we sure would be happy to have them if we did. David’s parents’ garage window got smashed by a flying canopy, but they, too, are fine and have power. We are all grateful, and my heart goes out to those who lost their homes or who will need to survive without the grid at least for the near future.

Many people have spoken today about the Philippines, since the unexpected storms reminded them of how suddenly life can shift. People have asked me how to process such large scale devastation, and I have a bit of a different take on it. When such a large group of people pass unexpectedly, I truly believe they carry on in a different collective reality. They are on a different timeline, because their collective sense of reality hasn’t really had time to separate. When something that massive and that sudden takes 10K people at once, I really believe it’s like Avalon fading into the mists. That’s why I’ve never been afraid of dying in an “Earth destroying catastrophe.”

First of all, I’m not afraid to die. I’ve spoken to the dead since I was a child, and the dead speak back. It’s a transition, not the end.

Secondly, I have faced my own death on multiple occasions. The day after my brain injury, I awoke in my old bed at my parents’ house, feeling so cognitively different and not remembering how I got there that I actually thought I was dead. I wandered around the house and, finding no one there, really thought I might be dead. My parents have a graveyard behind their house, so I wandered outside to see if I could locate my grave. I figured if I were dead, I would remember where it was, or at least I’d find some fresh dirt that would lead me to my headstone. As I wandered, I saw no one but a deer, and the deer stared at me. “Hmmm, so the deer sees me, but animals often see the dead, so that proves nothing.” I finally got the idea to return to my parents’ house and call them each at work. I figured since they don’t talk to the dead that if I were dead, they wouldn’t be able to hear me. They both picked up and assured me that I was still alive and that I very much needed to go to the doctor. Immediately.

The doctor ordered an initial two weeks off work, and I was bored. Very, very, exceedingly bored. I kept trying to read, but everything spun around. The letters seemed to float like bubbles and gnats around the room. I finally focused all my attention to clear the print and read “The Sun Also Rises” in one day. I had read it many times before, so I didn’t notice that I couldn’t actually follow the plot. I already knew the plot. When I stopped reading and looked up, the room began to spin. It spun and spun and spun until I finally passed out. The next morning, I awoke to the most massive migraine imaginable. I had never had a migraine before, and this, supposedly, was not a normal one. I thought I was hemorrhaging. I called my dad and told him I’d leave the sliding glass door open in case he needed to collect my body. I made peace with the Great Spirit in a moment of wonder, “Oh!!! You exist!” And that was that.

I didn’t die, at least not physically, but everything I thought I knew about myself and my life, all the external definitions died. And yet something remained. That something is the reason I don’t fear death. I see that something in every client, every friend and every stranger. While others fear a collapse of the familiar or a collapse of civilization or the grid, I relish the possibilities. Yes, I want systems in place to be able to handle sewage, food, clean water and some form of heating … you know, the basics … because I don’t like unpleasant smells or desperation. I know we can prepare our communities with backup systems that treat the Earth better and protect us from ourselves.

But I do look forward to people turning inward, as they inevitably do when “tragedy” looms or strikes. I look forward to how real people become when suddenly faced with their own mortality. I have helped so many people die, walked with them as they prepared to transition from this life into whatever lives beyond. I’ve relayed so many messages from passed animals, parents and children — messages with such affirmations and synchronicities that “prove” (to the Soul at least) that life continues. All is well.

As Julian of Norwich said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” We have agency. And life. We continue to co-create beyond the familiar. Who’s to say that won’t be our very greatest creation?